I Knew He Loved Someone
by Sleeping Sailboats
Summary: He's just about made it to his wagon when Django asks, "You married, Schultz?" Schultz x OC. First fanfic.
1. Chapter 1

"_His name was King__  
__He had a horse__  
__Along the countryside__  
__I saw him ride__  
__He had a gun__  
__I knew him well__  
__Oh, I heard him singing__  
__I knew he loved someone…"_

-"His Name is King," Luis Bacalov

"I had no idea you were a married man," he says. It takes all the willpower in the world to keep his voice from cracking. He asks questions about Django's lovely-sounding wife before excusing himself to retire early. He's just about made it to his wagon when Django asks, "You married, Schultz?"

He stops dead, having heard the question he's hoped to never hear. Not since the answer stopped being yes. A low, empty chuckle is all he can emit for a second before replying, "No," and heading to sleep.

That night he dreams of everything. The white dress she wore that special day—he can still remember the feeling of her sliding the gold band onto his finger. He dreams of her fiery hair that cascaded in natural curls down her back, the freckles that dotted her nose. That slightly crooked tooth that she always begged him to fix, but he couldn't bring himself to because it made her smile so damn cute.

She would complain that his beard was too scratchy, and then complain that she missed it once it had been shaven. He grew it out again and threw out his straight razors, because he knew he didn't need them anymore.

He dreams of waking up next to her, tangled in sheets, laughing as she tries to cook something other than soup. Anyone that said every couple fought had never met him and his Lucy. If they had ever even bickered about something, he didn't remember it. In his dreams he visits a sunny afternoon, where they sat on the hillside and drank beer.

At night she kisses him and rests her head on his chest, except they don't go to sleep for another hour or two, because they're talking about Fritz and Gretchen, who are grazing outside the cottage, he's talking about some patient that he had today, she's talking about a brawl down at the saloon where she tends to the bar. And sometimes they talk about children (why they're a nuisance and how they will never any).

But then one night she talks about an incident at the saloon, except it was between her and some son of a bitch who thought he could reach across the bar and slap her ass. He comes onto her, tells her she's beautiful and that this husband of hers, whoever the lucky guy is, probably doesn't satisfy her like he could. She turns him down, and he leaves, sulking.

Schultz tries not to think about it, but how could he not, when his beautiful, charming wife works at a place where men far better-suited for her than a dentist spend their days? She assures him it's nothing, except it doesn't stop there.

Day after day he's at the saloon, day after day trying to touch her and schmooze her and get her to come home with him. And day after day she tells him no, she loves her husband. And night after night Schultz loses sleep thinking about him.

One day she doesn't come home.

Fritz whinnies, looking for Gretchen, while Schultz tries to distract himself by cleaning his tools. He tells himself she'll be home any minute, then decides to ride into town, saddling up Fritz to go find his wife.

He can feel the tension as he enters the saloon, and at first he's confused when one of the other bartenders breaks down into sobs. "Oh, King!" she cries, throwing her arms around him. "I'm so sorry!" He doesn't assume the worst, mostly because he's afraid that he'll be right. "What's happened?" he asks, and she stares, wide-eyed, at the realization that he doesn't know.

She has to practically drag him down to the coroner's, and at this point he's just in plain denial, insisting that there's nothing there he needs to see. But he's wrong, of course, because as the white sheet is pulled back, he sees his beloved Lucy, stone cold and with a bullet through the heart. He doesn't cry, not for a few days anyway, until he wakes up for the fourth time with an empty space beside him.

That day, he sells Gretchen to the bartender that had been Lucy's best friend, and throws his wedding band into a river. Widows normally keep theirs, but to hell with that.

He quits his job the next day, and gets a new one.

He finds out the name of the man at the bar, and makes a special request that he be his first job. It's good luck to keep your first handbill, which is why it remains folded in his breast pocket. But he had never accepted the bounty—no amount of money would ever be enough.

He awakes with a start, mumbling her name.

~.~.~

"And there, Broomhilda shall remain, until a hero rises up, brave enough to save her."

"Does the fellow rise?"

He almost says no, because Schultz's Broomhilda sure as hell wasn't saved. And there sure as hell was no hero brave enough to save her.

But he just nods. "Quite spectacularly so."

~.~.~

Django asks why he wants to help him rescue his wife, and he tells him that he feels responsible for him. It's only a partial lie, however, because he does. But for the most part, it's his second chance.

**Schultz was probably my favorite character in DU, so I was interested in his back story, such as why he left dentistry. Then I heard the song "His Name is King," from the DU soundtrack, and when I heard the line, "I knew he loved someone," my mind started reeling. :D Like I said in the description this is my first fanfic so hopefully it was a good first attempt. Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**I've been trying to figure out what to do with this story, and for now I really want to focus on Schultz's backstory (in particular his relationship with Lucy)—I love his character and it's such a shame his profession is the only thing you really know about him in the film. So here's chapter two, thank you for the reviews! **

**AN: This is a flashback, not a dream, that will consume a couple parts of this fanfiction.**

Her mother had lived by a certain mantra, one she had shared with her when she was thirteen years old. Back when they lived up north, she had come home from the schoolhouse one day, greeted by the smell of something she knew wouldn't taste right—these cooking skills had to been passed on to her, unfortunately—when she told her mother about a boy in her class. Her mother, who thought her daughter was still the same old Lucy Hafner who complained about how weird and gross the male gender was, absent-mindedly asked what she thought about this boy.

She did not expect Lucy to tell her how this boy in her class told her she was pretty and held her hand while they walked home, and how she thought he was kind of cute, and really funny. For a second, she had stood there in awe, leaned against the counter, before pointing at the kitchen table. "Sit," she ordered, without the slightest bit of emotion.

Terrified, Lucy had sat down and watched as her mother calmly seated herself across from her, folding her hands on top of the table. "Lucinda," she said, using the name that Lucy hated to be addressed by. "There's something you need to know, and you need to promise me that you will _always _remember this. You can go and do whatever you want with boys—except for one thing, we'll get to that later—as long as you keep this in mind."

She had breathed a sigh of relief, glad her mother wasn't angry, then nodded in response with an, "I promise." She had meant it. With an expression she had never worn before, her mother looked her in the eyes and told her this mantra that she had always lived by.

"Men that don't treat you right don't deserve _shit_."

It hadn't been the most maternal advice, but Lucy listened. Every time she was with someone after that, it stayed on her mind. It didn't play like a broken record, but it was still there, occasionally whispering in her ear, telling her to heed those words. Since that day, she had been sure that men would be either treating her right, or hitting the bricks.

She couldn't have been more wrong.

Makeup had become a necessity in her life ever since she started bruising. But if Travis hadn't insisted on it ("Who wants to look at a beat-up broad?"), she wouldn't have covered them up. Let people _see _the shit she was put through with this asshole. But then again, he wasn't an asshole. Not to her. She loved him, and she knew he loved her, and she had gladly accepted the honor of becoming Mrs. Travis Truett a few months ago.

What had her mother been thinking? He was far from being unworthy of her—in fact, _she _was unworthy of _him_. This thought crossed her mind every time she caught a glimpse of her husband: tall, cut, and adorned with sandy hair that brushed down to his ears and across his eyes that she always looped her fingers in when she kissed him.

But sometimes these feelings would go away when he would slam her against a wall—and not in the way women dreamed of, either—and call her a dumb bitch, and she would realize she was becoming the woman she had promised her mother she would never be. And there are days when she is ready to get the hell out. But then she looks at him, and it changes yet again.

And she hates herself for that.

She hates how when she's told they're having a visitor today, her instinct is to go upstairs, pick a dress, and go to her vanity to start buffing powder on the areas she knows will be visible in what she has selected. Right now she's trying to cover a stubborn bruise on the back of her right shoulder: thin straps tonight. She would wear less revealing dresses if she could, but she knows Travis doesn't like those. And she loves him and wants to make him happy.

It's mostly bruises she has to hide—he never cuts her with anything, thank God. But she has to apply the powder tenderly, or else it's going to hurt like hell. Right as this thought occurs, she puts on just a little too much pressure and grimaces in pain. Two nights ago they had gotten in a terrible fight, and she had stormed towards the stairs to go up to their room. Travis, who was not yet done with the conversation, had stopped her by grabbing her shoulder and slamming the opposite one into a pillar.

"Baby, you up there?" she hears Travis yell just as the last of the bruise has disappeared behind the powder. And here's where she really begins to despise the monster she's become: she smiles at his call, despite the fact that she's currently trying to cover up his handiwork. "Yeah, just getting ready."

Footsteps sound in the distance, and had she been the brave girl she and her mother wanted her to be, she would have gotten up by now and challenged the bastard face to face. But she wasn't that girl. At least not today.

She's pulling the red evening gown from her closet when he reaches the room, leaning against the door frame with his small signature smile that she absolutely adores. "My darlin's going to look stunning' as usual," he murmurs, sauntering over and planting a kiss on the nape of her neck that makes her shiver.

"Who's this mystery guest?" she asks, turning around and giving him a kiss. She faces away again, silently requesting he unzip the dress she had worn to lunch today. "A dentist," he replies as he slides the zipper down to its base and pulls the sleeves from her shoulders. "Mother could use one, and she not in the mood for travellin'."

Travis's mother had been staying with them for about a week now, and planned to remain in their guestroom for one more. She wasn't the most delightful of company, and always seemed to have some request for either Lucy or Travis. "Well, why do we have to get all dressed up for a dentist that's come to clean your mother's teeth?" she questions as she lets the skirt fall to the floor. "Since he was kind enough to come out here, I thought he could stay for dinner," is his answer.

She smiles as he helps her step into the red dress and zips her up. She wraps her arms around his neck and thinks to herself, "He's a really good man," and her gullible self believed that. "C'mon," Travis says, putting his arm around her and leading them downstairs. "Ebony's cookin'."

Ebony was their one and only slave, who had raised Travis since birth. She had never been treated like any other slave, but, between the two, for very different reasons. Travis, on one hand, merely respected her because of their history, while Lucy just detested slavery in general. Once, Travis had discussed the possibility of him and some friends going down to an auction, and she had insisted he not go. He had just narrowed his eyes, agreed to stay home, and went into the kitchen, muttering, "Little _bitch_," as the door closed behind him.

Upon coming to live with Travis, Lucy had loved Ebony instantly, and she liked to think that Ebony loved her, too. And she was one hell of a cook.

"Travis, honey!" they hear Ebony call in her deep Southern voice that always reached each corner of the house. "I think I see ya guest comin' up on the road here."

"Thanks, Ebs. Dinner almost ready?"

"An hour or so."

"Jesus, Ebs, I'm starvin'."

"Then come cook your own damn dinner!"

Lucy peers out the window to see a horse-drawn wagon approaching the house. The horse is gorgeous—an onyx color with a nice mane. A large tooth bobs on top of the wagon as it moves, and she can't help but giggle at the small contraption. She tries to get a glimpse of the rider, but all she can make out is his gray clothing.

"How do you know this dentist?" she asks Travis as she joins him and Ebony in the kitchen. "Met him in town yesterday," he says, hungrily watching Ebony as she prepares the food. "Real nice man, told me what he did. I tell him my ma's in town and could use a cleanin', and he don't charge much, either. Dr. King Schultz, that's his name! Nearly forgot it."

She's setting the table when the knock sounds, and she feels a weird sense of anticipation. Lately, she's seen the same people every day, but tonight, it's someone new. Travis leaves to answer the door while she cranes her neck to see their visitor step into the foyer. "Quote an abode, Mr. Truett," he admires in a unique accent that she instantly takes a liking to. "You were merely being modest yesterday, I see."

"I've never been much for braggin', Dr. Schultz."

"Now where is your dear mother?"

"Upstairs in our guestroom."

"Splendid! But," he says, suddenly turning to face Lucy, "I do believe I've yet to be introduced to your wife." He smiles as he approaches her. Not the crooked, flirty smiles like the ones Travis gives her, but a real, genuine smile, one that implies that there is no greater honor than meeting her. It's nice. "Hello, _schön_, you must be Lucy."

"Dr. Schultz," she greets him, shaking his hand, which he kisses briefly. "You're German?" she abruptly asks. He grins and gives a single nod. "Indeed! You speak the language?" She shakes her head. "No, but I want to—I've always loved it." His eyes light up. "Really? Most find it far too eccentric for their own liking."

"How could they?" she exclaims, baffled. "Its rhythm is just so unique…"

Travis clears his throat, making her trail off. "Dr. Schultz, would you possibly like to stay for dinner after you've tended to my mother?" The dentist turns his back to her, and she's slightly disappointed the conversation has died. "Oh, Mr. Truett, that's very kind of you, but—"

"No buts, Doctor, I insist! Dinner will be in an hour."

He turns back to Lucy with his charming smile and shrugs in defeat. "I suppose it's only polite to accept, then." She smiles in return, wondering why she feels the need to do so at everything he says. Maybe it's just his aura.

As Travis directs Dr. Schultz up the stairs, Ebony emerges from the kitchen. "Lucy, honey, you finished—" She stops and stares. "What you smilin' about, girl?" Realizing she has a dumb grin planted on her face, she quickly relaxes her mouth and shrugs. "Nothing, Ebs. I'm just about finished here."

"Well, hurry your ass up," she orders, being one of the few slaves that can speak like that. She returns to the kitchen, noticing how her master's wife is in suddenly such a good mood.

**Things will get more interesting next chapter. ;) Thank you for reading, lovelies.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Please bear with me on this one—I'm trying to figure out where I stand as a writer (if that makes any sense), and I'm trying my best with an OC. With this fanfic, I kind of want to focus more on the story than actual description, seeing as I prefer to do that for my one-shots. Hopefully I will eventually find my place with this story, and it can be a lot better :P **

**AN: Starts off from Schultz's POV, but ~.~.~ indicates the transition to Lucy's, and vice versa.**

"Miss Ebony, I do believe your cooking has got to be the best in the South."

"Well, Dr. Schultz," she replies, a slight blush warming her cheeks, "I _learned_ from the best: my mama." He hasn't just complimented her out of kindness—the trout really is remarkable. It's been a while since he's been invited to dinner, seeing as not too many patients of his think to. And as for friends, he only has a few, but that's all a man needs in his life, as long as they're genuine. Either way, they're all far too busy with work and their family. But no matter; he has Fritz.

"In that case, to both you and your mother, I say, 'Bravo.'"*

The Truetts don't own a lengthy, extravagant dining table, probably because they're a part of the few that realize they would never fill it. Instead, they're seated at table that seats four. Across from him is Travis, and to his host's left is his wife. Beautiful woman, more so than the ones he's come across over the years. Smart, too.

"Now, ya see?" Travis says loudly, making Ebony roll her eyes as she turns away and leaves to go bring food up to Travis's mother. "That's what _I _always say! But the gal don't believe me, now does she?" he asks, grinning at Lucy. She gives him a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. Schultz watches as she reaches for the salt, then pauses.

Her eyes twitch, as if fighting an invisible force such as pain, and she retracts her arm. "Alright, baby doll?" Travis questions worriedly. A flicker of anger crosses her topaz gaze, and she presses her lips into a thin line. "Shoulder's a bit sore is all." And for a reason Schultz can't quite put his finger on, her husband's eyes darken, and he looks down at his plate.

"So, Dr. Schultz." She abruptly changes the subject, much to the relief of Travis. "What made you want to become a dentist?" An interesting question, one he's rarely asked. Perhaps people just assume he considered it his calling to scrape plaque from strangers' teeth. "Well, to be honest, years ago, I had been with the travelling circus for a while," he begins, and her eyes are bright with interest at this. "At one point I figured I needed to grow up, so I decided I might as well become a dentist."

A small grin cracks her face. "So…you just randomly picked dentistry?"

He raises his hands in defense, smiling foolishly. "Hey, it was a 'mature' occupation," he jokes, to which she laughs whole-heartedly. This catches the attention of Travis, who looks at her with alarm. He pointedly puts his hand on top of hers, and looks up at Schultz wearing a stern expression. _He's possessive_, he realizes.

"Tell me about the circus, King. Oh, can I call you that?" she asks, and he finds it absolutely adorable how worried she sounds.

"Of course, _schön_, or I also prefer 'Schultz.'"

"Oh, thank you, King," she says, winking. Damn, she's cute. _You make her sound like a puppy, _he tells himself. But as he begins to share his accounts of his time in the circus, and she eagerly asks questions and makes wisecracks, he no longer things of her as adorable, but rather completely angelic.

~.~.~

She insists he stay a while longer for dessert and coffee, much to her husband's obvious dismay. Schultz is talking to Ebony while she pours him a cup when Travis pulls her into another room. "The hell you doing?" he hisses.

Having had no idea of his discomfort, she stares at him, oblivious. "What are you _talking _about?"

"Don't play dumb, you little bitch," he snarls, and at that she looks down, feeling ashamed for a reason she wishes wouldn't exist. "All night, you been gettin' cozy with him! A-And he ain't even some handsome lawyer, neither! He's an _old-ass dentist_ with some stupid-ass wagon!" She says nothing, even though she wants to point out that she doesn't even think he's old, and that his wagon is nothing close to stupid. "You is _my _wife, which means you don't go flirtin' it up with his old ass. Understand?"

~.~.~

"Do you feel _threatened_ or something?"

Schultz steps into the room with his coffee right as he slaps her clean across the face. The sound of his hand meeting that far-too-pretty face makes him drop the mug, which shatters at his feet. Travis whirls around at the sound of the breaking porcelain. "Doctor!" he exclaims, his tone a mix of anger and surprise. "I-I didn't see you come in." He clears his throat and places his hand on Lucy's shoulder, who is now cowering off to the side, fighting back tears. "We'll be joining you in the parlor in a moment. EBS!" he suddenly roars, making Lucy jump and shy away, "Clean this up!"

A heavy sigh is heard before Ebony joins the three of them with a broom.

Had she not heard the commotion? Or is she that apathetic?

"Let's, ah...join Dr. Schultz, alright Lucy?"

"His name is King," she whispers harshly, and Schultz's blood starts to boil when he sees Travis tighten his grip on her shoulder. "Right," he growls, hauling her out of the room. "Coming, _King_?" he calls over his shoulder. Schultz doesn't respond-he's too alarmed at the pure rage coursing through his veins. He swallows, throat dry, before saying, "Yes, Mr. Truett."

"Don' worry, circus man," Ebony says, sweeping up the pieces of mug. "She gonna forgive him by morning." A rather large part of him hopes that she doesn't.

The rest of the evening is awkward, with Lucy rubbing her cheek and Travis trying too hard to distract everyone from what's transpired, and Schultz just looking at her the whole time. He can't help it, not because of her beauty, but because he's trying to send her a message with his pained eyes, and even though she won't even look back, he has a feeling she's receiving it.

_You don't need this._

_You're a wonderful woman—go meet wonderful people._

He's more than slightly tempted to ask her to come with him. Not in some romantic way—hell, he's way too old for her (unfortunately), but just to provide her with some form of escape. He doesn't wonder why he's so concerned about her, because it all makes sense to him, even though it shouldn't. He'd just met her two and a half hours ago. You don't just feel the need to care for someone after two and a half hours.

Unless they're Lucy.

It was so refreshing to speak to someone like her. He had learned years ago that people stop listening to you the moment you start speaking. But not her. She _cares_. Perhaps it was naive thinking, seeing as the longer you know someone, the more their true selves are revealed. But he has a feeling that she's real, and what you see is what you get with her. He wants to scold himself for creating a whole facet of what she was, when he doesn't even know her that well.

A small sense of reality is maintained as he reminds himself that she's not perfect—there is probably a whole amalgam of troubles and flaws and secrets wrapped inside her intelligent mind.

But in two and a half hours, he's grown to like her a hell of a lot more than people he's known for three years.

That's saying something.

The perfect opportunity arises when she excuses herself to go bring some dessert to Travis's mother. As soon as she leaves, Schultz asks where his bathroom is located, and Travis hesitantly tells him it's upstairs on the right, next to their bedroom.

He plans to silently guide her into an empty room and talk things out with her. Convince her to go with him, he'll take her to any town she wants, give her some money, and drop her off. She'll probably think he's crazy, seeing as he does, too, but it's worth a shot.

It turns out he doesn't have to wait long, though, for when he reaches the top of the stairs he hears quiet weeping from behind closed doors. Turns out she hadn't come up here to bring her mother-in-law a slice of apple pie. Quietly, he crosses the hall and slowly opens the door, whispering, "Lucy?"

~.~.~

When she hears the door, she curls up into a tighter ball on their bed, because she thinks it's him, here to scream at her for leaving him alone with Schultz, and probably hit her again. But to her utmost relief, it's Schultz himself, standing in the doorway. "Come in," she mumbles, and he does, closing the door behind him. "I wanted to talk to you, _schön._"

"Look, if it's about what happened—"

"It's exactly about what happened, actually."

"He means nothing, I promise."

He sits down next to her on the bed, and he looks at her with such sincerity it almost makes her squirm. "You need to get out of here," he says softly, like talking to a child that doesn't understand the rules of the household. "No," she quickly protests, shaking her head. "He's all I have, and then there's no way I can meet someone as amazing as him..."

"Lucy, _schön_, let me tell you something. In just a few hours, I already know what a beautiful, smart, kind, amazing woman you are, and that there are actual people out there that deserve someone like you. _That _bastard is nothing close to those men. But there are men that won't ever hurt you, and as long as you're staying here, you're keeping yourself from meeting him." There's something about his voice—that has nothing to do with his charming accent—that instantly calms any raging emotions._  
_

Before she can think, she's holding his hand, rubbing her thumb against the back of it and watching as he looks away for a moment. "May I share with you something that is so utterly peculiar to me?"

"Of course," she murmurs.

"I feel a very strange need to help you, to save you in any way possible from this. Like maybe I'll just sleep a hell of a lot better at night, knowing that you're not here. Because there's not very many people like you, so when we find them, we need to protect them, to keep them from becoming lost like everyone else. You're getting lost here, Lucy." His voice cracks slightly, and he has to pause for a moment. "I feel as though you're someone I'd like to keep in my life for a long time. And I sound batshit crazy, but—" She doesn't let him finish.

The door swings open right as she's kissing him.

**DUN DUN DUN.**

**I don't know if anyone noticed, but at * is my attempt at making a reference to another Tarantino movie.**

**Hopefully this chapter was okay—I wrote it after doing a huge load of work for school, so my brain kind of hurts :D I promise the next chapter will be better. I plan to write it while I'm in Cancun so I won't be as stressed out and the words will flow a bit more (all you writers out there know how it is). **

**Thanks honey buns xx**

**(I think I'll call you guys something different each chapter :P)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Last chapter was _not _my finest work…hopefully this will be better. **

She regrets kissing him.

Not because her husband is standing in the doorway, although he is, but because it means nothing, and he's a nice man—it's unfair to him. Maybe she just wants some way to defy Travis, to prove to herself that she _doesn't _need him. Because that's why he slapped her tonight, why he's hit her all those times: he thinks he's all she has. To be fair, that had been her mindset, up until about two minutes ago. Now things are different.

But she hates how things have to change _this_ way, because she feels absolutely nothing for King. During dinner, she had felt a strong connection, but in the most platonic way possible, like he was a best friend she would always want by her side. Romantically? She hadn't felt a glimmer of attraction.

Not to say he was unattractive, but it just hadn't been there.

And she had been okay with that, until Travis slapped her.

Now, here they were. But not for long, seeing as Travis was literally dragging her off the bed and out the door. He hadn't even said a word, just strode across the room, grabbed her arm, and yanked her.

King starts to stand up, but Travis whips around, pulling her behind him, and screams in rage, "BACK THE FUCK OFF!" His grip is pressing on one of her deepest bruises, and she's trying to focus through the blinding pain. "It's not his fault," she whimpers, refusing to look at King, for she already knows what danger she's put him in.

Beneath all of her husband's layers lies a sheet of pure, uncontained violence. And if you strip past each of his attributes as they grow less and less positive: affectionate, concerned, possessive, asshole, psychopathic, you reach that layer, and all hell breaks loose. Only once has she ever reached that one layer, and she's hoped to God ever since that it doesn't happen again. Unfortunately, it has.

"Don't lie to him, Lucy, it is my fault." The son of a bitch is trying to save her! She doesn't want him do that; she wants him to hate her, as he should. All she's ever done is hurt people, disappoint them, and she deserves to be despised. But yet, after all she's caused tonight, there he is, being wonderful him.

Travis shoves her into the hallway and slams the door, her heart sinking as she hears it lock. "TRAVIS!" she cries, pounding her fists into the center of it. Ebony is standing off to the side, a hand covering her mouth, while Travis's mother has the door cracked, peering out. Their lack of action makes her want to throw them out the window, but she's too enraged to even say anything.

"Is it true?" she hears Travis yell from the other side of the door, and she presses her ear against the wood, on the edge of hysterics. "DON'T, KING!" she screams, pounding her fist again. He doesn't do as he's told. "Yes, and I'm sorry, Mr. Truett. I came onto your wife, as I shouldn't have—"

His lie is interrupted by a loud thud, a low moan, and another resounding thud.

~.~.~

He uses a thick book that he pulls from a shelf to hit him over the head with. Not a common choice of weapon, especially down in the south, but it hurts like hell. He's surprised it hasn't knocked him out cold, instead leaving him to lie on the floor, head throbbing. Lucy, bless her, is begging her husband from outside the room to leave him alone, although it's far too late for that to happen. "Stay on the floor," Travis growls, even though Schultz can't even collect his thoughts, let alone get to his feet. The door opens, and he hears a sound, one that registers to him as a punch.

_The son of a bitch punched her in the face. _

This is enough fuel for him to plant his hands on the hardwood, preparing for an unsteady standing. "Don't you try anything, _dentist_!" he hears, although the words come to him like a distant echo, for he no longer cares what threats are made. All he can comprehend at the moment is that Lucy is being hurt, and he's not okay with that.

Although it's bound to happen, he silently prays that guns will not come into the equation. Surely, Mr. Truett doesn't just use books to hurt people. But the last thing he needs is a bullet in the head—he's already having a pretty rough day.

Finally, he's made it to his feet, clutching one of the bedposts. Just in time, too, for Travis is wrapping his fingers around her delicate little throat. "So he came onto you, yet I didn't see you resisting, neither," he sneers, smiling in satisfaction as she utters a small choking noise. Still groggy from the blow to the head, Schultz blindly reaches for a vase of flowers and hurls it across the room, missing horribly.

However, its smashing against the wall attracts the attention of Travis, who, much to Schultz's relief, releases Lucy. But instead of charging him, he simply turns and heads down the hall. And that can only mean one thing: he's going to retrieve a weapon, one much more serious than what he used before.

Seeing his chance, he rushes to Lucy, whose eyes are wide in horror. He opens his mouth to speak, but she silences him, pointing to the stairs. Noise is being made in the other room, no doubt Travis looking for his deadliest firearm. Thank God he's an idiot and has given them enough time to get out of there. Ebony and the other Mrs. Truett have retreated into the guestroom, the cowards.

They hear the shotgun be loaded right as they're thundering down the stairs. "OH SHIT!" Travis yells, and Schultz almost wants to laugh at the sheer stupidity this man can demonstrate. A deafening boom rocks the house, and he's pretty sure he was this close to being a dead man. By some act of God they are able to make it out the door.

Lucy grabs his hand and drags him to the right, in the direction of a small cabin, presumably Ebony's home. There's no way in hell they're making it in there. Or maybe there is, seeing as Travis is a terrible shooter. Dust rises as bullets plow the earth right behind their feet. He and Lucy might be some of the luckiest people in the world, because they make it.

"Why did we come in here?" Lucy cries as he slams the door and locks it, as if that would do them any good. "We're just sitting ducks at this point." She's right, too—Travis is marching down the hill they've come from, gun over his shoulder. "Get behind me," Schultz orders, to which she instantly objects. "Do it!" he snaps, eventually having to put her against the wall forcefully. He backs up until they're just an inch apart.

The door breaks down, and he's ready to welcome death with open arms.

~.~.~

It's clear to her why he's doing this, why he even bothers to protect her: he thinks that her kissing him meant something. And he has every reason to do so—it was a kiss, for God's sakes! Shit, she really shouldn't have done that. Not only would he not be laying his life on the line for her unnecessarily, but this whole maelstrom wouldn't have happened anyway.

Despite her guilt, she can't help but feel instant comfort by her shield. Had the situation not been dire, she would have loved how warm he was, or how he smelled of cedar. She also would have pinched herself for thinking like that, like she did indeed feel something for him. Or maybe she does, and the consequences of kissing him has merely tricked her into thinking she doesn't. At this point, she doesn't even know, nor does she care to.

Travis takes his time as he strikes a match lying on a table and lights a candle. Keeping his eyes fixated on King, he positions the gun, aiming right for him. "Is that really a good idea?" he taunts. "I mean, this here is a shotgun, buddy. I shoot ya, and this bullet gonna go right through you and hit pretty Lucy, too."

She feels King tense as he realizes his huge mistake, and Lucy just feels defeated. There's only one thing left for her to try; her last resort. Giving a resigned sigh, she steps out from behind him and takes a step forward. She feels his hand on her shoulder, but she brushes it off. "He did come on to me, you know," she mumbles, casting a sideways glance at King. He doesn't look angry, nor betrayed, but just confused, his eyebrows raised.

"I know, baby."

"Just shoot him."

The cabin instantly grows cold.

"What?" Travis stammers.

"Shoot the bastard." She glares at King, who now looks a little less surprised, and now kind of disappointed, as if to say, "Aw, come on, Lucy, does he really have to?" And she _hates _that. Why can't he be an asshole? Why can't he be angry with her? Why does he have to be so damn _great_?

"I-If ya say so, sugar." Travis looks stunned, as if chasing them through the house and shooting at them had just been a charade, and killing someone had not been on his agenda. "Just get behind me…I don't want the old man's blood gettin' up on your pretty lil face." She smiles and presses a kiss to his cheek. "I know you'll always be there for me," she whispers in his ear as she him ducks under his raised arm so that she's halfway out the door.

"SO," Travis unexpectantly bellows, making her breath catch in her throat. "Seein' as you're such a gentleman, Dr. Schultz, ya might as well give the lil lady what she wants, eh?" It's hard to see over his shoulder, but she hears King chuckle in defeat. "I suppose so."

Right as he's about to shoot, Lucy throws her arms around his neck from behind and, with unrecognizable strength, hurls him out of the threshold and slams him into the side of the cabin. For a moment, she's confused by his lack of resistance as her hands go to his throat, but then she sees his glazed eyes: he finds this absolutely mind-boggling.

Her thumbs, which she wishes weren't so small, especially in this case, are pressing harder and harder, and he makes a noise similar to that of a weak animal. She considers refraining—surely there's some other way? But she sees no other.

Doubt is still racing through her mind until she sees her mother's face, looking at her sternly from across the kitchen table, and the words ring in her head, loud and clear:

"Men that don't treat you right don't deserve _shit_."

Her mother's voice fades right as the snap sounds, and Travis slides down the cabin and slumps over.

At first, she feels something close to satisfaction, until she looks up and sees Schultz staring at her, wide-eyed. "Oh my god," he mumbles, barely audible, not taking his eyes off of her. She looks down at the dead body of her husband before her eyes grow to be the same size as his.

"OH MY GOD, I JUST FUCKING KILLED MY HUSBAND!"

Tears spring to her eyes and she sinks to her knees at the realization. Of course, she'd known what she was doing all along, but it's only when her thumbs are weak from pressing so hard, and Travis is already growing cold on the ground that it hits her: she's a murderer.

King's arms surrounding her seems like the best feeling in the world as she sobs uncontrollably and he pulls her to his chest. He's knelt on the ground with her, whispering into her hair that "it's okay, it's okay."

What the hell had _possessed _her to do such a thing? When did she ever have the ability to? She's nothing now but a monster.

To make things worse, Ebony's arriving. _It took her long enough!_

"Alright, honeys, I'm sure there's some way we can all work this out, without guns—WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED?!"

"She saved me," King explains as Lucy continues to sob. "He was about to kill me. I'm not sure if you ever realized this while you were working for him, Miss Ebony, but he was not always of sound mind."

"Ya think I didn't know that, circus man?" she exclaims. "Boy was born without a brain, I tell ya."

Her reaction is far from expected. "You're not even…angry?" Lucy asks incredulously as she wipes her noise with the back of her hand. "Baby, I know all he been doin' to ya, and I was waitin' for the day that I get some revenge for ya. Looks like today was that day." She motions to Travis's motionless form.

A new form of panic strikes Lucy. "People are going to find out about this…"

"Now don't you worry, baby. Ebony's gonna take care of ya."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, ya see, baby, you and Travis been givin' me a damn good life, and it 'bout time I live in the real world. What gonna happen is, people gonna be talkin', then they gonna show up here and ask where ya late husband is at. And Ebony is gonna tell them that she done killed him! An' his wife Lucy went and ran away, 'cause Ebony scared the hell out of her. They gonna believe it, too. An' his mama."

For the second time that night, both Lucy and King's eyes are so large, they've become strained. "Are you serious?" Lucy whispers, pulling from King's grasp and rising to her feet. "Dead serious, honey. You and circus man better leave tonight, though, o' else shit will happen."

Maybe it's too lighthearted of a gesture for this occasion, but nonetheless, Lucy traps her in a choking hug. "Oh my god, I love you so much, Ebony." She pats her back lovingly. "You gonna miss my cookin', right?"

Even King laughs at that one. "Of course!" Lucy promises, pulling away. She finds it so strange how casual this exchange is, as if Ebony isn't doing one of the greatest things someone could do for a person. But Ebony has always been like that—treating everything like it wasn't a big deal. One of the many things Lucy had loved about her.

"Take care, circus man," she says, patting King on the shoulder.

"Thank you. So much."

Fritz, as it turned out, was very well-tempered, for not even the commotion had spooked him. He greets Lucy and King with a snort and toss of the head, like nothing's happened. Hopefully, she'll one day be able to feel the same way as the beautiful steed. "Hey, gorgeous," she coos, rubbing him between his eyes while King prepares the wagon.

She's free, she realizes.

She has finally become the woman her mother wanted her to be. Because although she feels expected guilt for killing Travis, it is not because she feels that he gave her such a wonderful life, and that she had been so unworthy of him. And that is all the proof she needs to know that she's broken those awful chains that kept her here in this hellish life.

By tomorrow morning, the guilt will have mounted to a more extreme level, she's sure, but as long as it'll be for the right reasons, she'll welcome it.

"Ready to go?" King asks, and she smiles and nods, still rubbing Fritz's head. He approaches her, and her heart stops as she realizes that he's leaning in to kiss her. And it's not stopping in a good way.

Much to her self-hatred, she ducks out of the way and heads for the seat of the wagon. "I need to get some sleep," she mutters, staging a yawn.

"But of course," King replies, giving her a small smile that he probably has to stage as well.

There he goes again: being wonderful.

**Although I've gotten some wonderful reviews that I much appreciate, I would really like it if I could get a bit more feedback, because I have no idea if I should continue with this or not. I _want _to—I'm really getting into their whole relationship. But I need to know if it's working out for you guys, and if it's worth continuing. Please let me know!**

**Anyway, thanks for the reviews and follows from last chapter. I am so pleasantly surprised at how nice you have all been! **


	5. Chapter 5

**Some writer's block has kept me from updating, unfortunately. But I finally got around to it!**

**With every chapter, both the views and reviews decrease...I doubted whether or not I should continue :P But I personally love this story, and will continue to write even if I get no views xD I'm really glad I got through the last few chapters, because I was constantly struggling with them. I hope it's paying off, and you guys are enjoying it. By the way, recently came up with some major plot twists that I can't wait to execute. :3**

Women were not Schultz's area of expertise, for reasons he couldn't explain. Everyone he met expected him to have a wealth of knowledge to share about them, when he actually knew as much as Fritz did. When he was younger, he'd had his fair share of explorations in relationships, but one day he woke up and looked in the mirror. And he realized he was getting old. He accepted the fact that marriage was no longer probable, and simply committed to work. One would call it a sad and lonely life. On the contrary, indeed. It was a life of travel and meeting new people, things some could only dream of.

Yes, women were not easily understood by him, or any man, for that matter. But it had seemed pretty logical to assume that when a woman kisses you, it is a romantic gesture, not duress or rebellion.

He drives the wagon, Lucy asleep beside him, and feels a tinge of annoyance. Honestly, did that have to be the most appropriate way for her to assert her independence, or whatever she had been trying to do? As these thoughts circulate in his already-exhausted head, his grip on the reins tightens, and he questions why he still wanted to take her with him. _Maybe you don't know shit about women because you're a fucking pushover._

As it turns out, he is, because when he looks over and sees her wrapped in the coat he offered her, small snores sounding from her throat that aren't even a nuisance, his heart instantly softens. That weird instinct of his to protect her hits him like a brick wall, and they ride on, not exactly into the sunset, but forward.

~.~.~

Over the years, she had felt his neck on her hands many times. She had grasped it between her hands as she kissed him, leaned into it as they stood side by side. But these memories had been replaced by the fresh one of her pressing down on his windpipe and leaving him to die at Ebony's cabin. Some wife she had been! To be fair, he hadn't been the best of husbands, but that was something she only understood now. That's why she had hesitated in Travis' final seconds: she had felt she was being _unfair_ to him.

But it was over now, and she was no longer under the mind games he had unconsciously made her play. She was on a wagon with a very nice man—one she probably owed an apology to—leaving that horrid place behind. A place she had loved and endeared up until last night, but now considered hell on earth.

She feels King's hand on her shoulder, and she stirs. She wakes to the sight of an approaching town, one she's never seen before. "Where are we?" she yawns, sitting up a bit straighter. Reminding herself of the apology he deserves, she gives him a tiny grin, to show him she's grateful for all he's done, and is even looking forward to their traveling. However, he doesn't quite understand, and just shrugs. Or maybe he's aware of what she's trying to do, but is simply angry with her. _About time_, she thinks with guilt.

"Hard to say, but better than being stuck in miles of woodland," he replies, calming her worry with a chuckle. "Unfortunately, I don't know what we should do in terms of our—your—future. Where you can go." He frowns in thought, and her face feels a little warm as she realizes how that expression is one she likes seeing. Biting her lip and turning her head to face forward, she gazes ahead at the town. "So what do we do until we figure something out?"

"Set up in the middle of town, I suppose, earn what we can." His eyes brighten, and she assumes he has an idea. "You could be my propaganda!" She can't help but laugh awkwardly. "I'm sorry?" Making a continuous motion with his hand, that expression crosses his face again as he tries to form an explanation. "Suppose someone is sitting in a public area and a young, outgoing, attrac—" He clears his throat, "charismatic woman joins you and tries to sell you a service. Would you at least consider it?"

Having been taken aback by one of the words he had begun to describe her with, it takes her a moment to register the question. He'd called her beautiful before, but that had been when he was trying to talk her into leaving Travis for her own good, not in casual conversation. She wants to bring it up, but decides against it and considers the posed question instead. "I suppose so."

"Exactly! And you, my dear, would be perfect for persuading potential patients." He smiles, and it's that simple movement that leads her to agreeing to do it. "You'll get half the earnings I make over the next few days." She gasps at the proposition. "A quarter!" she demands. "If anything at all!" Amused, he rolls his eyes and flicks one of the reins, urging Fritz forward. "You're something else." Even though, in some aspects, it's not a compliment, she blushes and buries herself further into his coat, something she already has a strong love for.

~.~.~

Weeks pass, and now everyone knows of Dr. King Schultz and Lucy Hafner (not Truett, thank you very much), and their dentistry. Those frequenting a saloon catch the sight of auburn curls, and they know that the doctor is in. Maybe it's her beauty, maybe it's her charming smile, or maybe it's just her light-hearted tone that keeps the patients coming. No matter the cause, there's always someone in need of a cleaning or having a tooth removed. It's not exciting work, but it's something.

Month by month they pay for two rooms in an inn, side by side. Except sometimes he'll hear the door open, and she'll come in, the moonlight accentuating her tear-stained face. The first time it happened, he had questioned her, but she merely shrugged and crawled into bed next to him, sobbing quietly and pressing herself to his chest. Because the same scene finds a way into her dreams, and it always ends with Travis's hollow eyes watching her leave his corpse behind. And nightmares of Ebony always ensue—she's been whipped to death, or just shot in the head, because she refused to let Lucy take the blame. She wakes with a start and is already out of bed, because in the end, it's him she seeks.

His warmth makes the memories cease, like wiping a drop of water away with your thumb. He never minds that her crying keeps him awake, because it means the smell of her hair lingers in his room and he can kiss the top of her head and mumble into her ear how okay it is.

While the hours pass in his room, she deems herself a liar, because she no longer feels absolutely nothing for him, and it's undeniable now. She still hasn't apologized for kissing him, because at one point she stopped being sorry about it. She liked kissing him.

One night she wakes to hear him muttering in his sleep, and although they words are hardly audible, she loves listening to them. They become her lullaby, and it's one of the reasons she continues to come into his room, even after the nightmares stop.

They tell each other stories, like what he did in the circus, and, since she's never done anything remotely interesting, all the mistakes she's made. He never judges her, never even cringes when he hears of how she considered becoming a prostitute to pay for medicine that her dying father needed. And he comforts her as she reminisces about holding his hand as he dies. For once, someone understands, someone willing to steer you away from the past and into a better direction.

He never speaks of the negative things from his former years, claiming that he always looks ahead. Finally, he breaks, and fights back tears as he tells her how he and his brother would go swimming in the lake when they were young, and how he had been the first to be told of his death. Later that night, she goes to his room, but not for herself. For him. He likes being comforted, a feeling he's a stranger to.

Inevitably, he learns of her terrible cooking skills. "This is great," he says as he tries the roast she made in the inn's kitchen. "You're such a liar," she replies. He dies laughing.

She's happy. They're happy.

For six months this goes on, him working, her schmoozing the townspeople, them sharing a bed every now and then. In the day, they act as best friends, but at night, sometimes things cross a certain line, and they're on the verge of being more. But they never talk about it during the day, mostly for the sake of avoiding an awkward conversation.

Until one night, when she's sitting in her room reading. King stumbles through the door, practically drowning in alcohol. "HEY," he abruptly shouts, making her jump and stare at him in awe. "What?" she asks nervously.

"I love you."

The room is so silent she can hear movement from the room below them. "How do you feel about that?" he drunkenly demands, trying to steady himself against the door frame. Eyes wide, her grip weakens on the book. "I don't know," she whispers, watching his face for any signs that this is a joke. But it's not. "Why have you been drinking? Are you upset about something?"

He looks out the window, dazed, before laughing to himself. "Yeah. I'm upset about how fucking in love I am with you, and how ridiculous it is that I am." He looks at her now, almost accusingly. "You don't need me anymore, right?" His voice breaks slightly. "I was just useful for a little while, when you were trying to cope with Travis' death. But..." He shakes his head slowly. "Now I'm just someone to keep around. And...and I fucking fell in love with you." Laughter penetrates the air, except more darkly.

Before she can respond, he gives one last chuckle and leaves, closing the door behind him.


	6. Chapter 6

**I just recently noticed how pathetically short all of my previous chapters have been, so I'm going to work on that! Please let me know if this is progressing okay...I want you guys to enjoy this story, only problem is I have no idea what I'm doing haha. **

**A/N: The first jump from King to Lucy's POV is also a jump back in time by a few hours. And that is the only change in POV this chapter; the other horizontal line indicates another time jump, same POV. **

He hasn't gotten drunk in years—alcohol only leads to trouble, does it not? The following morning is all the confirmation he needs as he violently retches in the bathroom, regretting every sip he took last night. _Idiot! Idiot! Idiot! _is all that he can think as he rubs his temples and groans. Sleep would do him some good, except the sun's up and there's work to be done.

It takes way too long for him to realize what had happened when he returned to the inn. Now, he's on the verge of smashing his head into the wall. His...confession hadn't gone over so well last night, it seemed, since he's woken up alone. Scolding himself for his wishful thinking, he debates whether or not he should go apologize. Maybe they can just do what they've done all these months in terms of sharing a bed, and act like it never happened. But this was nothing close to comforting each other in the night: This was a fool telling a young, beautiful girl he loved her. He wasn't an insecure man, just a realistic one. For his own sake, it may be best to just pretend that he hadn't meant a word he'd said. It would be the biggest lie to the moon and back, but he would do it, just to salvage the friendship that he wished could be more.

Deciding that it must be done, he smooths out his hair that's been horridly mussed by rough sleeping, figuring that as long as he's lying, he might as well look presentable doing it. Step by step, he leaves his room and approaches her, constantly changing his mind—multiple "solutions" are coming to mind, yet they would benefit neither of them. He raps on the door, his throat dry as he prepares to tell her that he doesn't love her, that she's a close friend, and watch as she smiles in utter relief that he understands how irrational his behavior had been...He must get this over with. Although his lack of courtesy may make the exchange more difficult, he opens the door.

She's gone.

* * *

_Coward! Coward! Coward!_

She's just exactly that. There's no way to sugarcoat it, put it into more polite terms. She's a horrible, horrible coward. For years, she had hated herself, especially under the influence of Travis, but now...she wanted to hurl herself off a cliff for her actions. A part of her wished that she would run into some unfortunate accident, just to get what she deserved. These thoughts frighten her, but then again, she deserves all the fear and pain that comes her way. She doesn't even know why she's running away! Raging cowardice had drove her from the inn and onto the wagon of a strange man, one not nearly as friendly-looking as King. Upon hearing her request for a ride, he had frowned in distaste before grudgingly agreeing to escort her out of town.

Once they had passed the outskirts, he had taken her a few more miles before demanding she get off. "But sir," she had pleaded, "it's the middle of the night. Can't we get to another town?" Growling unpleasantly, the man flicked the reins and urged his horse forward, a horse that was nowhere as beautiful as Fritz. The whole ride consists of her biting her fingernails and despising her inability to face her fears.

But what fear had she refused to face, exactly?

Someone like King being in love with you was not necessarily a bad thing. Now that she thinks about it, it's a good thing. A real good thing. And she likes how he had said, "I love you," despite the alcohol having impaired his speech. She wants him to say it again. _Then you should have stuck around, you cowardly bitch. _Had she not been sitting next to a stranger—and a rude one, at that—she would have sobbed into her sleeve. She would have sobbed because she had missed the opportunity to be with the greatest man she had ever met.

King makes her nervous, except not in a bad way. She sees someone so perfect, she's afraid to love him. Because she isn't worthy of doing so: She's a coward, a tease, and an emotional wreck, not to mention a murderer. And her past! How can she love someone so perfect, when she drags along a chain of bad memories? So if she were to love King, she would ruin him. Perfect, perfect him. Whoever had said there was no such thing as a perfect person had never met him. It could be considered unhealthy to think of someone in such a way, but, since she would never be able to see him again, she might as well indulge in her insane thoughts.

"We ought to approach another town in a few miles."

She smiles with gratitude, or something close to it, for he had unknowingly taking her mind off things, at least just for a minute. Would King travel to nearby towns in search of her? Probably not. She shouldn't flatter herself—there was no way he would ever want to lay eyes on her again.

"Thank you. I don't think I ever got your name."

"Garrett."

"Great name. I'm Lucy."

"So, Lucy, how do you plan to compensate me for this ride?"

"Excuse me?"

He rolls his eyes and speaks in a condescending tone. "I offered you a service. You repay with either money, or another service." Obviously, she knows how things work, but quite frankly, she can't help but feel a little frustrated "Had I known you would charge me, I wouldn't have asked for a ride," she snaps. He calls he a spoiled princess before putting his face in his hand. "Pretty broads like you think you can make your way through with your looks. If, God forbid, y'all are asked to pay someone for a service like an average-looking being, y'all get all whiny and shit." He sighs. "Get the fuck off my wagon."

Muttering, "Asshole," she pulls money from her coat pocket. "Here."

"That's all you got?" he sneers, taking it from her and counting it in his palm. "No, but if I want to eat, I have to keep some for myself," she mumbles awkwardly, wondering if that'll be a good enough excuse for this greedy man. Unfortunately, it's not. "Just make some more money when you get settled." To her horror, she realizes she'll have no job, no way to support herself. For six months, her work had come only from the generosity of King. Now, it was just her. "I don't know how I'll make money," she whispers, and she hears Garrett make a sound of annoyance as he urges his horse forward. "Better find some way to pay me back then, if you ain't willing to spare the rest of those dollars."

A dark thought blankets her mind, and she almost gasps aloud at the sheer absurdity of it. Would she? Was she willing to steep that low?

She recollects that moment from years ago, when she had spoken with her father of his illness, and how the medicine he needed was incredibly pricey. King had listened to this story before...she had met a scandalously-dressed woman named Sarah who had suggested she join the field of work, claiming to earn sufficient funds. Just as it had done today, cowardice had contained her, and her father had died in front of her. If Garrett were to dump her onto the dirt road, she would be left with no choice but to wander, lost in the dark. The chances of her ending up in a town were slim—she could not afford to lose this ride. Sarah's words buzzed in her head: "_Half the time _they _do all the work! It's disgusting at first, but will be over before you know it. Trust me, honey, it's worth it." _

Holding her breath, almost, she reaches in the dark to put a hand on his thigh. "Maybe," she rasps, wishing she didn't sound as disgusted as she is, "there's a way I can repay you."

She's oblivious to everything after that, mostly because she has to remind herself to keep breathing. Garrett looks her way every time her breath hitches in her throat, and he gives her an ill-natured smirk; he probably thinks she's so looking forward to what's going to happen when they reach the nearest town. Little does he know that she's practically gagging at the thought of what lies ahead. Whether or not she has a choice is questionable...would there honestly be something else she could do that could keep her from being abandoned in the middle of nowhere? No. At least, that's what she tells herself.

For the first time, she dreads their arrival at the town of Gatesville. Normally, the idea of a roof over her head thrills her, as it would anyone. But particular things will be occurring under said roof, so she's none too pleased. She considers the possibility of bolting at the last minute, but that would just be running away again. That would just be her being a coward. Despite how fucked up it is, she feels like she does owe him some form of compensation, and itwould be _immoral _of her to deny him her...services. Hatred boils in her core for how she thinks and feels, yet she takes Garrett' hand as she steps out of the carriage.

Sarah wouldn't have batted an eye; she would have merely led Garrett into the nearest inn and gotten it over with. Unfortunately, she was Lucy, and that's why her stomach's aching with nerves as she watches him pay for a room. "Can't believe I gotta pay to be paid," he mutters, digging in his pocket. The innkeeper looks confused, but doesn't ask any questions. "I'll lead you to your room," she says with a polite smile. _Please don't_...

Trailing after the two of them up the stairs, she thinks about King, even though it's the worst possible time to do so. Now there's no way he would ever want her back, even if she dropped to her knee and serenaded him. Look at her! A cowardly, self-hating, pushover about to delve into the world of prostitution. What would he think, what would he say, if he knew of her walking into the dimly lit room, accompanied by a repulsive asshole? Would he bother to try to talk her out of it, or figure she deserved it? Would he feel satisfied as the innkeeper closed the door behind them, leaving them alone?

Worry of her fast-approaching job eludes her, and she instead imagines the look of disgust that King would surely wear. "Lucy, you whore," he would scoff. "You honestly couldn't think of a better way to repay him?" No, because she's an idiot. So engrossed in her predictions of King's reaction, she nearly has a heart attack when she feels Garrett's hands on her shoulders as he eases her up against the wall. "I never bought a woman before," he whispers, wrapping her hair around his fingers and pulling slightly, inflicting discomfort. "You haven't bought me," she says defensively, though not raising her voice above his. He rolls his eyes. "You know what I mean."

His breath on her face makes her want to recoil, but she can't. Closing her eyes, she waits for the dreaded first kiss to be over. She knows more are sure to ensue, but the first one must be the most difficult. It is. His lips on hers are an unnatural feeling, forcing two things together that clearly don't belong. For a moment, she trembles, obviously not out of anticipation. But that's how Garrett interrupts it, and he grins against her mouth. "Seems like this is more for your benefit than mine," he snickers, and she wants to vomit. What a disgusting man.

Pulling more tightly on her hair, he uses his other arm to wrap it around her waist and pull her closer, much to her dislike. At least it's a bit easier to kiss him, now that the first one's over, but not much. Now she's just letting her mind wander, trying to distract herself from the mess she's been dragged into out of stupidity and lack of self-respect. Only problem is, there's nothing to think about but King. It's kissing Garrett that reminds her of how much she liked kissing him, and she decides to just pretend that's what she's doing. A cliche tactic, but an effective one. Hesitantly, she raises her hands to his face and cups it, pressing a bit closer to him. When he mutters something, encouraging her to continue to respond positively, it's not his gravelly Southern accent she hears, but King's enthralling German. Her imagination makes the hand running down her side soften, and molds his lips to fit hers a bit better. She almost murmurs his name, but knows that won't go over so well.

It's still disgusting to be pushed onto the bed and have her clothes removed by him—not even the mind-games she plays with herself can brace her for that. Throughout the night, things become almost bearable. Each time he rests his hand around her knee, she minds less, because, in her head, it's King, not him. It's not easy, but possible, to make it through those once-miserable hours, that have now resolved to just being unpleasant. Occasionally, she's numb, and can hardly feel his touch, which she's grateful for. His weight threatens to suffocate her, giving her limited room to move, but she never protests, thanks to her ever-growing mentality that she owes shit to these people. Apparently, part of her job requires spending the rest of the night text to him, tucked under his arm. Her heart sinks as she notes how similar this night is to many nights before, except under much better circumstances. Garrett smells nothing close to cedar, more like rotting oak. Or maybe he doesn't, and his scent merely reflects his personality.

Sunlight finds its way through the slightly-parted curtains and into the room, marking the beginning of a possible heaven after a night's worth of hell. The job's done—can she go now? "Garrett," she whispers, giving his shoulder a small poke. He stirs immediately and almost sits up, like he's been attacked. "What," he grumbles, relaxing again and hugging her closer to his chest. Clearly, he wasn't in the mood to let her go. "Never mind," she sighs, deciding to get an hour or two more of sleep. "When can I leave?" she asks sleepily. "Soon," is he reply. Not soon enough.

As expected, she feels used and dirty. How can she call herself a real, independent woman, when she doesn't even have the little audacity it takes to put herself before total strangers? Why can't she treat herself like a normal person, and not a freak of nature who can sustain all the shit she puts herself through? First an awful marriage, and now this...

When she does finally get the hell out of there, she's left to figure out what to do. Because of her alternate way of paying Garrett, there is money left for her to live on. But what about after it runs out? Then what? Frowning, she takes a small walk through town, looking left and right at possible job opportunities. For a while, she sees none, before coming upon a saloon. To her surprise, patrons have already filed in, some even drinking beer at this early hour. Only one bartender is working, asking customers if they're absolutely positive that a glass of bourbon is a good idea. "People drink this early?" she asks dubiously as she approaches the bar. Chuckling, the bartender reaches underneath the counter to retrieve a glass. "You'd be surprised," she responds.

"Are you, by any chance, looking for anyone to hire?"

"You could say that. Why? You need a job?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"Then I'm afraid you're going to have to look elsewhere." Uncontrollably, Lucy's jaw drops, having been led on momentarily. "Why?" The bartender looks like she's trying to choose her words carefully. "Once in a while, we get some sleazy characters in here. They either cause a whole fight, refuse to pay, or destroy our property. And these people normally flock when we have some good-looking bartenders. And with a face like that, I wouldn't be surprised if I came into work one night to find drunken idiots breaking chairs in half." What she said could have been considered a compliment, but Lucy's furious nonetheless. "I could handle them!" she says defiantly. The bartender shakes her head sadly. "Not even I can."

She opens her mouth to argue, but figures it's not worth her time. Her morning's been rough enough as it is. "Have a nice day," she says quietly before leaving the saloon.

What if she were to work in the inn? Obviously, she would not be working in the kitchen, but what if she were to clean the rooms? It didn't sound like that bad of a job, and the innkeeper could possibly give her boarding. Although the last thing she wants to do is return to the place where awful memories were made, she does. Much to her relief, the innkeeper has been looking for someone to share the duties of running the inn, and hires her without a single question. "Say, didn't I see you hear last night with a man?" she asks. "Must have been someone else," she says quickly.

Only two rooms had been occupied last night: One had been by her and Garrett. The other occupant had left early in the morning, so she cleans their room first, praying that Garrett doesn't sleep late in the mornings. For once, she's lucky, and he's not there when she enters his room. Cleaning it takes no time, seeing as they had used it for only one purpose. Shuddering at the recounting of those events, she purifies the room of all bad things, both physical and intellectual, somehow ridding a bit of the regret that had been burrowed in her chest. She didn't think it were possible, especially since it had happened quite recently, but she feels better. Maybe it'll wear off eventually, but it'll do for now.

The innkeeper's name was Ada, and she had been working in the inn for thirteen years. It had been passed down from generations, so, although she had grown to despise the place, she had kept it in her possession. "If I hadn't felt to obligated to run it," she declared, "I would sell it to the first bidder and leave town. Go do something worthwhile." When Lucy had asked what she would do, she would just grin and shrug. "Doesn't matter. Not like I'm getting out of here, anyway."

No one comes for a room all day, so their hours are spent lounging around in the inn's parlor and asking generic questions that they could respond to with broad answers. They're discussing whether or not they would leave the country if given the chance when they hear the door open in the other room. "I got it," Ada assures her, jumping to her feet and passing under the archway, out of sight. Lucy's stretching out on the sofa, yawning, when she hears a voice that stops her heart.

"May I get a room, dear _Fräulein_?"

He went looking for her. He actually left town to come looking for her.

"Of course, sir. May I have a name?"

"Dr. King Schultz. Might I request I get a room that is facing into town? I'm looking for someone."

"Seeing as all rooms are available, I can't see how this could be a problem. May I lead you to your room?"

Their cordial exchange is not one she cares about, for she can't get past the fact that King himself is standing just on the other side of that wall. It's not been a long time since she's seen him, but his arrival has made the truth ring loud and clear, and she's surprised it hasn't done so already. She was madly in love with him, but had been too afraid to admit it, even to herself. It all came down to the simple fact she was reiterating: He was the definition of perfect, an amalgam of good nature, intellect, humor, the ability to make you feel special, even when you were far from being so. His smile could make the stars rearrange themselves, his touch could drain you of all sorrow. It had been six months since she'd kissed him, an action she had once regretted, but she still remembered what it had been like. How, even though she had just been trying to escape from Travis' emotional reign, she could feel his affection radiating from him, and how, if her husband had not appeared in the doorway, she would have never pulled away. As she heard them ascend the stairs, she almost wanted to chase after them, to drag him into the nearest room and do nothing but kiss him and repeat how much she loved him. After all the shit she'd pulled, running away after he had told her he loved her, here he was, searching towns he didn't know for sure she was in. He had deemed her worth the trouble, and that meant more than the world to her. Someone as perfect as him wanted someone as imperfect as her. With her countless flaws and refusal to do the right thing, even for herself, she's not supposed to be loved. Not by someone like him. That's not how the universe works. Yet...here he was.

Six months of working together, her luring in patients, him fixing them up flawlessly without effort. What he did wasn't glamorous, but she admired him so. Just the way he would shake someone's hand or wish them a good day made her come to love him more and more, because his presence just made life a little easier. Instead of turning her out of his room, he welcomed her into his bed, running his fingers through her ear and whispering how it wasn't her fault, it wasn't her fault, even if they both knew that was a lie. An honest man like himself had lied for her. Some couldn't appreciate those who only told you what you wanted to hear, but she loved it. Especially since that hadn't been what he was doing. He had been sparing her the pain, for he knew that she already thought very little of herself, and if he, the only person she had left, were to admit the truth, it would drive her off the edge. She would spiral into darkness and probably never come back. He had wanted to preserve her, flaws and all.

Ever since that evening, when they had first met, she had known. Not that she was in love with him, but he was simply a spectacular man. In just one night, he had demonstrated more sympathy, compassion, and interest in her life than the friends she'd had for years ever had. He had cared that night, and, even after all she'd done since that one dinner, he cared now.

And she loved him.

* * *

It was ironic, really, that he was staying in the room right next to the one she and Garrett had been in. Would she ever tell him what she had done? Probably, because he was the kind of man that she didn't want to keep things from. Not out of fear, but respect.

It's late, and she stands right by his door, waiting. Waiting for a signal that she should enter, or just for the moment where she would be ready, she doesn't know. She's just waiting. Taking a deep breath, she places her hand on the doorknob, hoping she won't startle him too much. _Just get it over with. It's taken you six months to even work up the courage. He's worth it._

He _was _worth it.

Before she can back out of it, she swings the door open, instantly regretting how rapid her movement has been. Not to her surprise, King sits straight up in bed, his eyes huge. They grow even larger when they focus in the dark, and he can see it is her. "Lu—"

"Shhhh." She holds a finger to her lips, and he goes silent. She crosses the room. His eyes, the ones that could leave her breathless when they were filled with a non-nonsensical and optimistic hope, watches her every move, moving with her. She throws back the sheets on the side of the bed that he's not sleeping on. A smile tugs at her mouth as she sees that it's the side she would be on throughout the many nights they shared a bed together. Climbing in, she rolls over and takes his face in her hands, the face that belongs to the man that has become her world.

"I love you too," she whispers. She kisses him, for real this time.

**Next chapter shall have some surprises :3 I worked very hard on this chapter, so hopefully it paid off!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Thank you very much for the feedback! Here is where I begin to integrate the actual movie. I've been planning these plot elements for MONTHS now so we shall see how it turns out :D Thank you for the recent follows and favs! You guys are way too nice to me.**

Things had taken a surprisingly good turn—just yesterday morning she had awoken in the trap-like embrace of a repulsive man that she had left with heavier pockets. Now, the first rays of sunlight welcomed euphoria, like things were the way they were supposed to be. No regret, no shame.

Looking over her bare shoulder, she notices they had strayed to opposite sides of the bed in the night. Their fingers, however, are loosely laced together, a scene that makes the corners of her mouth lift sleepily. For the first time, though, she feels self-conscious: The sheet lies low on her hips, exposing her entire upper half. She's never been the thinnest of women, nor the curviest, therefore never being categorized as the more appealing shapes. For many years she'd wished her abdomen was more firm, or her arms and legs were half the width they were.

With Travis, her insecurity dissipated, only because she knew she was with someone who didn't care. And while she's sure King isn't the type to, she still worries. Pulling the sheet higher up, she debates letting go of his hand and slipping off for fresh air. She'd hate to disappear again, but she also needs a moment. To do what, she's not sure. But as she dresses and leaves the inn, she knows she'll never regret last night.

* * *

For one slightly terrifying instant, King thinks she's left him again. His hand feels a bit strange, the lack of Lucy's delicate fingers leaving it rather barren. Would she really go this time, after all that had happened throughout the night? No. After six months, he knew enough of her character to assure himself that she would not leave after everything.

Admittedly, he hadn't slept with someone in a while. It was more of a personal choice—he could humbly give many examples of when the opportunity had arisen. Thus, it had been a while since he'd felt genuinely happy. A young, beautiful woman had told him she loved him, a woman he himself had loved for what he'd assumed was unrequitedly. He would have been even happier had this woman been beside him, but it seemed the universe had already given him his fix of good fortune.

Dressing, he glances out the window and is pleasantly astounded to see Lucy down below. She's sitting on one of two rocking chairs that rests upon the inn's small patio. The chairs face a distant mountain range that she looks towards, her expression plain and unchanging. Smiling at the revelation that she is indeed still here, he combs his hair with his fingers and heads downstairs. Ada is evidently still asleep.

When he steps out the back door, she doesn't stir, because she probably knows it's him. "Glad to know you're still in town," he quietly jokes, wondering if he should be careful with his words or not. She doesn't respond at first, and he prays he hasn't upset her. That's the last thing he would ever try to do. "I'm never leaving you again," she responds after a seemingly eternal silence. Leaning forward, she drops her face into her hands and lets out a heaving sigh. "This is so fucked up."

Taken aback, he tries to decipher the meaning of those words before she corrects herself. "Not you, not last night…both of those things are perfect." She chuckles nervously. "I mean…the fact that _you _still want _me…_" Laughing dryly, she turns around in her chair and looks at him with stunning, intelligent eyes. "Do you understand how messed up _I _am? First of all, I _murdered_ my _husband_ and allowed an innocent woman to take the _blame_…" She curses subtly as her eyes begin to tear up.

"She's probably been killed."

Wanting to comfort her, he steps forward, but she stops him. "I can't stand up for myself," she continues. "For years I allowed my husband to abuse me, and somehow managed to convince myself that it was okay. On top of this, I run away as soon as something starts to scare me. For example! I realize I love you, and I leave. _What _kind of woman is that?" Before he can respond, she turns back around and shields her face.

"Well," King says, approaching the chair, "that woman happens to be the most perfect woman in the world." She shakes her head as he places a hand on her shoulder and kneels beside her. "You're not supposed to think that," she whispers. "You're supposed to hate me. Because I sure do." Raising her hand up to his lips, he kisses it softly and puts his other hand on top of it. "I can think what I want. And I think you are the epitome of perfection." Shrugging in defeat, she looks the other way. "I suppose being a murderer is just such an appealing quality to you?"

Despite her harsh tone, he has to smile, because even right now she has that effect on him. "Seeing as that murder resulted in the prevention of mine, I suppose it is." A fleeting smirk plays on her lips before she cringes and closes her eyes. A pity, for he loved looking at them. "I run away from everything." She puts her hand to the side of his face as he begins to protest, her thumb gently skimming his cheek . "It's okay, King. You don't even have to try to deny that." He wants her to at least look at him, to at least give him some sign that she will still be here tomorrow. "Why, love, do you pretend that I have never done anything wrong in my life?" Opening her mouth to reply, she seems to pause at the revelation that she has no response. "You're you," she tries.

King frightens the both of them when he chortles darkly, and he debates whether or not this is a path he will regret going down. "I'm me," he repeats, shaking his head sadly at his Lucy's ignorance. Not that she can help it—had he ever told her it all? No, but for a justifiable reason, at least in his opinion. He hadn't wanted her to know about the things he had done, or at least started to do. Should he had been proud of himself, for not having carried on his bad ways for too much of a prolonged period? In his opinion, no. It had been too dark of a time for him to see any light at the end of the tunnel. He had done wrong. But would Lucy judge? Would she care? _She _had let him into the tragic crevices of her mind, had opened up as easily a newly-printed book. Lucy was no hypocrite, and, even if she couldn't understand, she could still respect him. He hoped.

Now she looks at him, her brows lowered with curiosity. "I lied," he bluntly announces. "I lied when I told you why I chose my certain profession." She doesn't seem the the slightest bit phased by the fact that he had lied to her; a big surprise, for he detested himself for it. Lying wasn't a practice he was used too, having always prided himself in being an honest man. Except for...that other time. Years ago. "Why did you become a dentist, then?" she asks quietly. "You can tell me," she adds. "It won't make me think less of you. There's no way." Those words were ones he had yearned to hear, but they don't reassure him. "I became a dentist..." His eyes are intensely studying a blade of grass a few feet away. "...so I could hide my opium addiction."

He doesn't blame her for what seems to be her knee-jerk reaction: A hand flies to her mouth. "You see, I bought opium from a kind gentleman who wanted to make sure that anyone purchasing it was using it for the right reasons. And what was I to say? 'Yes, sir, I'd love to use this for recreation.' So, just for one. Single. Drug...I started a whole other career path. I left the circus. I told the supplier that I would be using it to relieve pain in patients." Afraid to look at her, to see what disgusted expression she is wearing, he continues to gaze at the yard. "Luckily, I didn't allow it to go on for much longer. I looked in the mirror and saw who I had become, and I hated that man. And I'm glad you never had the chance to meet him." Preparing for her to get up and leave, he bows his head, like a shameful dog, and waits.

Warmth floods his face as she takes it and plants a gentle kiss on his forehead, then his lips. "Don't be ashamed," she mumbles against his hair as they embrace, and for once King needs comfort. No one had known of his past addiction, and the feeling of having the burden gone, off his chest, makes him curl more into her arms, for he's never felt more at peace in all his life. "If I can make all the mistakes I did," he whispers, drawing circles on her back with his finger, "then you can, too." He's ready to dismiss any objections she may make, but there are none. "No matter what you do, you will always be the single most wonderful person I have ever known, you beautiful, beautiful girl."

Tears flood her face and spill onto his shoulder. "Damn it…no wonder I love you." He laughs and presses a kiss to her cheek. "As I love you."

They sit there for a full hour, her in the chair, him on the ground, not speaking a word. Then she asks the question they're both pondering. "What now?" He stirs at the broken silence. "Now? We live."

* * *

After a bit of persuasion, the bartender, Francine, allows Lucy to work at the saloon. Pretty soon, all the patrons refer to them as twins, for their auburn hair and similar noses make them appear strikingly so. Months pass, and Lucy and King are officially locals in the town, making for lots of guests at their wedding a year and a half later. He surprises her with the hillside cottage, a picturesque abode that she gawks at the whole day, constantly asking if it really is theirs to keep.

Four years go by shockingly fast, four years of coming home to each other and cascades of compliments and teasing lovingly. Four years of waking up, sometimes on opposite sides of the bed (never intentionally), but sometimes practically molded into each other. Either way is nothing but bliss. And there are still nights where dark, twisted recounts of her life before sneak into Lucy's head, some even leading her to scream in the middle of the night. But it becomes a fact of life at one point: The regret will follow her for a long time. Yet life ceases into a state of normalcy, a normalcy that the two of them could easily enjoy for a long, long time (had the opportunity only been given).

It's been these wonderful four years when Lucy suggests to Francine that they keep the saloon open a bit longer one night. It's a strange request coming from her, since she's normally the first one out the door. While some go home to grumbling wives or no one at all, King's always waiting for her, and that's all the motivation she needs to get out of work as soon as possible. She loves her job, but she loves him more. Evidently, however, today is a different day. Nothing's wrong at home—she just likes the energetic vibes the saloon is giving off tonight, and she wouldn't mind sticking around a bit longer. Besides, King wouldn't mind. "Eh, why not, I'm in a good mood," her co-worker and best friend agrees, so the two announce the extended hours, and multiple men raise their beers in celebration and cheer heartily.

"Well, ain't that just wonderful."

Lucy's never heard the voice before, yet it strikes as unsettling. Looking across the room, she sees a man that she can't quite develop an immediate opinion of. Is he attractive? Not sure. Unattractive, though? Not exactly. As if sensing his cue, he rises from his chair and strides over to the bar, sliding onto one of the stools. "Do me a favor, doll, and fill up a glass of whiskey for me," he requests with a heavy Southern accent.

She can almost feel his eyes on her as she retrieves the bottle and a glass, feeling more intimidated than she really should. He's just another customer, isn't he? "How are you doing today, sir?" she asks, trying to keep her voice from shaking. She's appalled at how easily frightened she is by this man, a man who may not even pose a threat.

"Not too bad, lovely. Just stayin' here for a few days."

Does he remind her of Travis? Is that what's keeping her so on edge? "Oh. Well, how are you enjoying your time here?" Her hand shakes slightly as she pours the whiskey, a few drops making it onto the surface of the bar. "As long as you're my bartender, things will continue to look up," he snickers, winking as she slides the glass over to him. Trying to go along with things, she smiles and starts to head over to an unattended patron.

"In a hurry, sweetheart? I was hopin' I could talk to you for a bit."

"I'm working," she says sternly, keeping her eyes on the balding man that looks in desperate need of a drink. "When do you get off?" he presses. Ignoring him, she takes the man's order for a shot of vodka and serves it up in seconds, trying her very hardest to numb her senses from those shocking blue eyes.

Her breath catches in her throat when she passes by him and he grabs her hip. "My name's Calvin. Calvin Candie. What's yours?" Jerking away from his grip, she escapes to the bathroom and stares into the mirror, wondering why the hell she can't face him. It _must _be the accent, so strikingly similar to the man she once unfortunately loved. "But that's over!" she declares aloud, glaring defiantly at her reflection. "Things are better now. I can face him." Rolling her eyes at how she's talking to herself, she washes her hands and returns to the bar.

Right when she passes the man named Calvin, however, she feels a hand slap her from behind. "You're just a doll, ain't ya?" Flying around, she slams her hands on the tabletop. "I'm married," she informs him through clenched teeth. Putting up his hands, as if he had done nothing to deserve her resentment, he mutters, "Lucky guy." Francine takes it upon herself to help Lucy get away, and asks if she could check up on tables. Grateful for an excuse to get away from Calvin who is, without a doubt, now repulsive to her, she exits the bar once again.

When she comes to work the next day, he's there. "Whiskey again, if you don't mind," he grins, putting some rather grimy teeth on display. "It's eight in the morning," she points out, serving some up anyway. There's no one else in the saloon—Francine wasn't supposed to come in for another two hours, Mabel, who had been hired last month, was sick, and everyone else was sensible enough to not come in this early for drinking. Small-talk, therefore, was rather forced. "What brings you to town?" she asks, allowing her apathy to seep through her tone. He knows as well as she does that she couldn't care less why he's here. "Fights," he replies, eyeing the almost-full glass with thirst. "What kind?"

Chuckling, Calvin greedily downs the drink, tapping the rim of the glass for another. She obliges, hate bubbling up inside her. "Naïve, are ya?" She's about to retort that she's anything but, but opts to keep her mouth shut. "Ya don't know what the big thing is nowadays? With the Mandingos?" Admittedly, she has no idea what he's referring to. "I'm too busy with work to keep up."

"Nigger fightin', sweetheart."

Such an ugly word. Resisting the urge to shudder, she simply nods and turns her back. "I suppose you yourself own some…fighters?"

"Damn right! Only the best, too, if I say so myself. You should come to a fight sometime. Or maybe not, seein' as I don't even know ya name." She has no intention of going anywhere with this man, let alone an event that sounds gruesome and cruel. "My name is Lucy," she hesitantly tells him. "And thank you, but that doesn't sound like something I would enjoy seeing."

For a few minutes it's blissful silence, which, of course, Calvin eventually interrupts with some comments that make her want to spit in his face. "You're a beautiful girl, Lucy. Got the nicest little body I've seen in quite a while." When she doesn't respond, he persists. "Married, ya say? Damn. What I would give to be _that _man. What's his name?" The farthest she'll go in letting this scumbag into her personal life is her own name. But anything about King is out of the question. "Daniel," she lies, wondering if he'll believe her. Probably not. "Huh. Sounds like a decent fella. Do ya love 'em?" What a ridiculous question! She humors him nonetheless. "Sometimes, but maybe I ought to leave him for a man that drinks at the crack of dawn."

Roaring with bitter laughter, he reaches across the bar yet again and strokes her arm, which she subtly jerks away. "You're just a lil' comic. Sexiest comic I've ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on." Francine, bless her, had decided to come in early and entered just at that moment. "Bit early for business already," she comments. Lucy just shrugs.

He's there the next day!

"Ya should have _seen _the fight last night!" Calvin exclaims as she gives him his whiskey fix. "My nigger won, of course. Only the best from Candieland!" Her newfound curiosity gets the best of her. "Candieland?" Calvin nods eagerly. "My plantation. Finest one this country's ever had! Financial statistics suggest otherwise, but fuck money! Sure, I'm wealthy, but my money don't define me." _Are you sure of that? _she sneers to herself. "Say, is _Daniel _wealthy?"

She pretends to ignore him, feigning an absent-minded expression as she cleans a glass. "I _said_, is Daniel wealthy?" he repeats, and from the corner of her eye, she can see him tense. When she still doesn't respond, he nearly jumps across the bar to drag her closer, scaring the living shit out of her. "Ignorin' me, are ya?" he growls, repelling her with his breath. "Back off, asshole!" she screeches, shoving him away and retreating to the bathroom for the second time. "Who the _fuck _do you think you are?!" he hollers. She stays in there until she hears him leave, breathing a long sigh of relief.

She and Francine arrive at the same time the next morning, and are both pleasantly surprised to learn that Calvin is not present. "S'pose the jerk got the message and knew where he wasn't welcome," Francine speculates, setting up the bar. "Maybe," is all Lucy can contribute to what she considers to be wishful thinking. Because she has a feeling that men like Calvin Candie don't care where they're not welcome.

"What is it?" she questions when she spots Francine studying her intently. "Nothing, it's just…ah…you're lipstick's smeared a bit." Laughing, Lucy excuses herself to the bathroom _again_, this time for a more casual purpose, and not hiding from a disgusting admirer. She's removing the rosey pink color with a gentle finger when a door opens and slams. "Please don't let it be Calvin," she groans, except she's soon cut off by the raw sound of a gunshot.

Resisting the urge to scream, she drops to the ground, her back to the door. The last time she had heard such a horrific sound had been _that _night, a few years ago. Tears run down her face, knowing there's only one person that could have been shot.

"_Shit_!"

It's not Calvin's voice, and she's not sure whether or not she should be relieved. "Wrong bitch!" the stranger yells in a gravelly tone. Should she dare crack the door? He mutters something about a wedding ring, and her blood turns to ice. Francine's not married. But she is. That's how this man, whoever the hell he was, was supposed to identify her, since she and Francine looked alike. But who sent him? A name plays over and over in her head.

One minute feels like an hour before the door opens and closes again, and then she cracks the door, holding her breath. He's gone. Francine's body is not. Crawling on her hands and knees, she holds back sobs as she approaches her dear friend. She closes her eyes for her, no longer able to suppress her cries. She lays there, heaving with tears, too wracked with grief to even figure out what she should do. Her instinct says to go straight home to King and tell him what's happened, explain how Calvin was apparently so melodramatic that he would _kill _a woman that wasn't interested in him. And not even do it himself, the coward.

But despite her instinct, despite knowing what she _should _do, that beautifully evil word sparks within her: Revenge.

* * *

A healthy marriage is supposed to not contain secrets, but this was one that needed to be kept. Just the thought of dragging King into business with this man makes her cringe. He would want to help her if she told him, and that can't ever happen. Faking one's death may be seen as a bit much, but if anything were to be done about Mr. Calvin Candie, she would do it. Was it terrible that she would rather him think she were dead then think she had abandoned him? Putting her husband through grief was the last thing she would ever want to do, so she made a promise to the both of them that he would one day learn the truth. Once it had been done—whatever _it _was, she wasn't sure yet—she would go straight back home and they would reunite.

Taking her wedding ring, the beloved band she had cherished for four years, she slides it onto Francine's left finger and examines her resting face. Would King notice the difference? Just in case, she smears blood across her features. A disgusting gesture, but one that may secure the lie. She finds a pen and paper and scrawls a resignation note from Francine, dating it so it looks like she wrote it yesterday. She sticks it on top of the bar.

By now, her tears had dried, her mind reeling as she forms a plan. Candieland, right? That had been the name of Calvin's plantation. The best idea seemed to be to go there. Ride right into hell. Maybe work there for a little while, earn their trust…then fuck them up. It was so easy to plan, yet was most likely going to be a difficult task. But no matter. As long as she got what she wanted in the end, she didn't care how hard it would be and how long it would take.

Even though he should be, King is not on her mind. She knows she will sooner or later regret what she is doing to him. But Francine's still body motivates her more than King can deter her. Besides, she made a promise: He will one day know that she is indeed alive, and they can be together once again. That's all she's ever needed in her life.

Calvin's hitman didn't know what Lucy really looked like, but Calvin sure did, thus making it a bit tricky for her to just fool him into thinking she was someone else. But a disguise…

Rummaging around the place, hoping she can find something, _anything _to hide her identity, she somehow comes across a bottle of bleach. Who the hell brought bleach into a saloon? No matter, because she's never been so grateful for such a strange find. She's not experienced with hair, but she's sure she can somehow manage to lighten hers. Would blonde hair be enough, however?

She starts to panic as she realizes she's wasting time and needs to get the hell out of here before someone comes in. Looking around frantically, her eyes fall onto Francine. Would it be that wrong to take something from her, if it is for the purpose of avenging her death? Maybe it would be fitting to take what had been her good luck charm that she had kept wrapped around her wrist:

A red bandana.

**…do you see where I'm going with this? Think of an unnamed character from the movie. ;)**


End file.
